


Personal & Professional Relationships

by j_gabrielle



Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, cafe!AU, hired killers, hit men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:57:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For voices who asked me over on tumblr for; <i>Riaro owns a cafe and Leonardo is always there. I have no idea where this is supposed to go, so just do whatever you feel like. Or don't. Just please write something for my Leario feelings ! </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voices_in_my_head](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voices_in_my_head/gifts).



> A HUUUUUGE thank you to [janie_tangerine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine) who translated the Italian bits, who isn't even in the fandom but is so super sweet about helping me out with this. 
> 
> Thank you hun for holding my hand while I flailed. <3
> 
> The second chapter to this will contain the Italian dialogues in English.
> 
> For maximum effect, read the Italian parts in Blake Ritson's voice. The man pings all of my language kinks. 
> 
> All. Of. Them

“It’s them again.” Vanessa grins, slipping past him at the counter. Riario frowns, looking up from the order sheet he was mulling over.

The three men take their usual seats by the window; the youngest shoving his bag under the table, the tallest one talking animatedly with his hands, while the third smiles in his direction. Riario glares back, lips thinning in displeasure as he sets about preparing their order.

A plate of polenta cakes for the table, a glass of Rosso di Montalcino for Zo, a bottle of Moretti for Leo, and a cup of espresso for Nico. He loads them all onto a tray, casting a withering look in Vanessa’s direction which is less effective than he likes. The girl merely winks cheekily and unaffected, starting on a salad for Table 4.

Sometimes he wonders why he bothered hiring her in the first place.

Zo drains his glass in one breath, grinning up at him as he sighs. ‘Heathen.’ Riario thinks briefly in his direction, flourishing the wine bottle that Zo happily intercepts before it touches the table. Nico accepts his coffee with muted thanks, while Leo lets him set the plate of polenta down before he grabs his wrist, solemnly asking, “When will you drink with us?”

“Quando ti farà morire soffocato, idiota.” Riario replies smoothly, twisting his wrist out of the other man’s grip. Nico begins to cough and sputter, face turning a brilliant shade of red as his blue eyes widen to stare incredulously at him. “E se tutto va bene sarà il prima possibile.”

Turning smartly, he retreats to the safety of the counter, ignoring the way his skin burns from where Leo’s hand had touched him

 

* * *

 

Girolamo Riario’s temper is well-known amongst the community, as is his dexterity with the blade. They had doubted him, doubted his ability to stand up for himself, but after the incident with some of the Pazzi boys causing havoc and him putting them in their place with a the aid of a cutting board and a book, doubt was the furthest thing from anyone’s mind.

No one is quite sure where he had come from, or who he was before he arrived in their little cluster of shops and cafes. The only thing that they knew was that Riario was not a man who lets down his guard for anyone other than the tailor’s daughter.

 

* * *

 

“Why are you so mean to me?”

Riario raises an eyebrow, coolly regarding Leo as he leans next to the counter, smiling teasingly. “I’ve seen you smile before and I know you are capable of it, so why won’t you smile at me? You smile at Nico, at the little children who come in, at their mothers… Why not me?” He queries softly, eyes half-lidded and lazy.

Riario rings up their total and takes the money from Leo. “Sorrido solo quando mi serve.” He hands over the bill, their palms brushing briefly. “Ma per te lo farei, se solo me lo chiedessi.” He swallows nervously.

Leo tilts his head, considering. “Arrivederci, Leo.” Riario sighs, trying not to feel irrationally disappointed.

He watches them leave, knowing that he will see them in a day or two.

 

* * *

 

 _Il Celia_ opens on a rainy autumn day, and all Riario wants is her back. He had just come back from the cemetery, still drenched from the rain. _Il Celia_ was supposed to be a wedding gift and Riario feels crying even now.

 

* * *

 

All he knows about Zoroaster is that he is a musician of sorts. The man has asked him to stick up flyers for his gigs on the notice board often enough, and it does makes sense in a way. Riario also knows that Zo may or may not have a crush on the youngest member of their little trio. He hopes for his sake that he grows a pair and does something about it because it is equally (and rather painfully) obvious that Nico is a little more than head-over-heels for him as well.

Nico he knows a little more than Zo; born to a political family, he is the third son with no hope of inheriting the family seat, but from what Riario can see, it is more than fine with the blonde boy. He is quiet, shy at times, but Riario has been witness to his antics when he is drunk and it is simultaneously embarrassing to watch, but yet amusing at the same time. Very much like a train wreck that you cannot look away from. Nico is reading International Relations at the University, and Riario has never seen him with people in his age group.

He knows even less about Leo, and what he knows is little snatches of gossip and conversations amongst other patrons who know him and from Vanessa. Leo is the illegitimate son of Piero da Vinci, the Magistrate. Raised primarily in England, he came to Florence two years ago for reasons that no one quite knows. Leo integrates himself into the fabric of the community, and even though he speaks very little Italian, and understands even less, he is often the object of affections for many of the local girls (and more than a few of the starry-eyed boys). Leo works for Verrocchio’s repair shop, doing jobs for a commission. It is a pity though, because from what Riario has heard, Leo is quite the inventor and painter.

What is quite obvious however, that his arrival had not been greeted with the happy open arms of his father. Riario thinks he is running from something. And he can understand that feeling.

 

* * *

 

Riario’s days pass like this; wake up before the sun, prepare a small breakfast in his little flat above the cafe, get dress, goes down to open the café, survive the day, close up, goes home and sleeps alone in his bed that was made for two.

 

* * *

 

The day Riario meets Lucrezia again is the day Leo brings her into the café. They both startle at the sight of the other, unsure how to react before Riario chances a glance at Leo who is taking a call outside.

Shaking his head almost imperceptibly, he waits until Lucrezia nods before breathing again.

He serves Leo his usual, taking down her order. She does not meet his eyes, and Riario does not force it. He scurries back to the kitchen, taking command of the stove from Vanessa and telling her to take over the service. Something in his voice must have shown how shaken he was that for once Vanessa does not make any witty quips, merely nodding and passing over the ladle. She pauses as she re-ties her apron, watching him with bright eyes. The remark about her strawberry-blonde hair not being tied up is on the tip of his tongue, but he finds that the words have left him when Vanessa reaches over and squeezes his arm as she turns to leave.

Riario finds that he cannot stop shivering.

Lucrezia comes alone the next day, her hair done up in a bun and dressed simply in a green dress. She waits outside the door, the streets devoid of people other than those beginning to set up their shops. Riario keeps his head down, unlocking the front door and ushering her in.

She waits until he has set a cup of coffee in front of her before she speaks. “Hello cousin.”

 

* * *

 

He has killed before and the warm weight of a gun or a knife is like an extension of his body. Blood and the taste of tears is his perfume, and he knows that those that die by his hands are nothing more than the enemies of God.

He has felt the life leave the bodies of the young and old, the potential and confirmed threats to the Church. He has watched as the lights go out behind their eyes, their confusion and fear. He offers prayers for every single one of them, and has done so since the first time he took up a sword and ran it through the resistance of a human body.

He is the Bishop of God, the Executioner and deliverer of Judgement to the wicked.

So why did the pleas of a dying mother stayed his hand?

 

* * *

 

The first time he meets Leo is that rainy autumn day as he sits at one of the tables, a picture of happier times in his hand. He can still smell the freshly dug grave and the flowers he left at her tombstone.

“Ci siamo quasi.” He says, not looking up.

“It’s okay. I just need some place to wait out the rain.”

Riario grits his teeth, wanting to stand and shove the man right out into the street. Judging from the man’s accent he was a tourist then. Can’t he see that he wants to be alone?

He is about to tell the man to leave, that this was not a free shelter, when he looks up to see clever brown eyes looking straight into his. “I cannot offer you anything, sir.” He says haltingly in English. It has been far too long since he has used the language and he can only hope that the words he uses were the correct ones.

The man’s eyes widen, before they crinkle up as he smiled. “I don’t need anything, _signore_. Just needed a place to wait out the rain.”

Riario regards him carefully for a moment; feeling the rage and helpless frustration in his chest bleed out slowly. He looks back to the picture in his hand; he with his eyes closed, smiling as he presses a kiss to her cheek, the sun shining down on them like a blessing, her laughter that is fading fast from his memory…

She would have set a table out for him, chiding Riario for his rudeness. The telltale burn of tears behind his eyes persists even when he gets up to set out a chair for the man. He disappears into the kitchen, preparing a cup of caffe macchiato without asking the man, and coming out to set it on the table.

“Siediti.” Riario says, reverting into Italian, uncaring if the man cannot understand. “E mi faresti un favore se ti togliessi il cappotto, mi stai bagnando tutto il pavimento.”

The man blinks in surprise, before a grin slips into place and he takes off his coat, taking a seat. Riario grabs the damp thing, bringing it into the kitchen to hang next to his own coat by the stove. He takes the seat opposite the man and they both watch the rain in silence.

“My name is Leo.” He says when he leaves two hours later, smiling as he pays for the drink. Riario is about to protest, telling him that there is no need for that, when the man— _Leo_ places a hand over his. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Riario isn’t quite sure what he feels when the man shows up a few days later with his friends, and when they become regulars in his establishment.

 

* * *

 

Trouble comes a few weeks after Lucrezia’s visit.

He knew the Pazzi boys would not leave him be, and he was right. They and their thugs manage to inflict considerable damage to the place, and he thanks whoever is listening upstairs that Vanessa had gone home earlier for her date with Giuliano.

“What are you going to do now, tough guy?” They taunt, jeering as they push him to the ground.

Riario feels the red haze coming over him, feels the old monster that he keeps so very carefully sedated rearing its’ head, when the bell over the door tinkles and he hears the shout of angry voices, the sounds of fists on bodies.

He closes his eyes, fighting away the lust for blood. It has been a long time since he has felt this need to feel, this want…

“Va tutto bene?” Riario gasps, jerking away from the sudden touch. He sees Nico putting his hands up, edging away slowly as if being confronted by a dangerous animal. “Leo!” The boy shouts, and Riario detects the panic in his voice. “Leo, get in here!”

Riario hears a low growl and he turns his head around to find the source of the sound. “Riario? Riario, I need you to calm down. Riario, please…” Leo enters his line of sight, hands gripping his forearm. “We need to get you to a hospital, okay? You need to hold on…”

“No… No hospital. No. Hospital.” He grits out haltingly, suddenly desperate. “Please…”

Leo looks at him, conflicted, but he nods after a moment. “Leo! Are you mad?!” He thinks he hears Zo shouts from somewhere. “He needs medical attention!”

“He says no hospitals.” Leo says, eyes not leaving his, and Riario just feels like sagging onto him. “Riario, where do you live?”

“A-Above…”

Dimly, he is aware of Leo telling Zo and Nico to wait here for the police, and he slings an arm under his, wrapping it around him and guiding him up the steps to his flat. “Here.” Leo whispers, taking the keys away from his shaking hands and unlocking the door.

Leo sits him at his bed, moving around the flat under his instructions and gathering his first aid supplies. He feels the burn of antiseptic on his hairline, the sting when Leo tends to the cuts and bruises.

“Thank you.” He manages tiredly, unable to look at Leo. Riario feels drained, frayed at the edges of his sanity. “Can you call Vanessa?”

“Zo already did. She’s coming over later to clean-up.”

“I’m sorry…” He starts, then stopping, unsure how to continue.

Leo takes his hands between his palms. “Why did they come?”

“I humiliated them.” He breathes, closing his eyes. “They wanted to make an example of me.”

He feels a warm hand carding through his hair, and he can’t help but lean into the touch. “I’m checking you for any bumps. Wouldn’t want you to get a concussion, now would we?” Leo smiles, increasing the pressure of his fingers and Riario suddenly finds it hard to stifle the moan rising in his throat.

The heavy tug of sleep is hard to ignore, and Riario isn’t going to fight it. Leo lays him back down against the pillows, pulling the blankets over him. “Thank you.” He sighs as he feels Leo’s hand against the side of his head again.

 

* * *

 

Vanessa is there when he wakes, a fiery ball of vengeance as she heats up some soup for him.

“Are you alright?” She asks, carefully setting the bowl in front of him. Gently, she places the back of her hand on his forehead.

“How bad is it?”

Riario watches her face fall. “Bad. The police made some arrests and Giuliano’s brother is using this as an excuse to put the Pazzi’s out for good.”

He swallows, breathing deep. “And Leo?”

“He is coming by later.” Riario tries very hard to ignore the knowing smirk on her lips. “Knight in shining armour, huh?”

He shakes his head, trying valiantly to ignore the bubbling feel of happy giddiness. Riario stands, moving to the window. There, from behind the curtains, he sees the gawkers straining to look into the destruction of the café. Dimly, he is aware of the feeling of welling sadness in his chest, the loss.

“No he is not.” He says softly.

 

* * *

* * *

 

When the Vatican sends their best, they really do mean their best.

Riario has barely enough time to draw his own gun before they start shooting up the place.

He can hear Leo calling his name, Vanessa’s panicked screams, and he has to ignore them because he cannot afford to be distracted. The pain from the Pazzi’s attack ebbs away to the back of his mind and he pushes himself against the back of the upturned sofa.

“Get down!” He shouts, pushing Leo and Vanessa to the ground.

“Do you want to tell me _what the fuck_ is going on?!” Leo screeches, eyes wild with fear, hands going up to cover his head as a shower of plaster rains over their heads.

Riario calculates their chances, identifies their exits. “When I get up and start shooting, you grab Vanessa and get out through the bedroom window. Do you understand?” He checks his magazine, “Leonardo! Do you understand?!”

“Your English…” Leo breathes, brown eyes searching.

Huffing, Riario frowns incredulously at him. “You want to do this _now_?”

“On three.” Riario waits for the gunfire to cease, and the distinctive sounds of guns being reloaded.

He sees Vanessa paling, confused. She digs her hand into Leo’s sleeve. “THREE!”

 

* * *

 

Lucrezia is sitting in his darkened hotel room, calmly waiting until he takes the space on the chair next to her. “Why didn’t you fight back? That first time with the Pazzi.” She asks.

“Because if I did… If I did, they wouldn’t be alive. They would be dead and there would be more questions about me than I am comfortable with.” He clasps his hands in front of him, leaning back to watch the play of shadows on his ceiling. “I can’t risk it, Lucrezia. No one must know.” He whispers.

She does not say anything, and they sit in the silence. Then, she reaches into her purse, drawing out an unmarked envelope. “A new identity, a new start. Bank accounts in Zurich and London registered under your new alias with enough money to start over twice. There is a locker at the bus station. The key is in here. Take it.”

“Why are you doing this?” Riario asks, curiosity and intrigue colouring his words. He is too tired for anything else.

Lucrezia blinks once, the tips of her lips curling upwards. Riario is reminded of a time when they were children; in those rare moments that they were still innocent and Lucrezia was not haunted by the death and horrors of their lives ever since.

“Because you’re family Riario. As much as we have ignored that, you _are_ my family. And we keep each other safe.”

 

* * *

 

“Do you want to tell me why some Catholic priests with guns decided to shoot up your flat?”

Leonardo says from behind him. Sighing, Riario turns around.

He had only come back for the picture, the only thing he has left of hers. He looks around him, feeling a little forlorn about the loss of _Il_ _Celia_. He wonders if she would have been happy here.

“I kept myself out of trouble. I made myself invisible, hid away in here.” Riario lifts his hands, gesturing to the ruins of the café. The answer does not satisfy Leo. Burying his hands in the pockets of his coat, “I’m sorry I put you in harms way…”

“That’s not the point.” Leo interrupts.

“Then what is?” Riario replies, tilting his head. In the dead of the night, the yellow streetlamps outside cast an eerie sort of halo around Leo’s head.

Leo seems to grapple with his words—a first time for Riario. “Why did anyone try to harm you? Why would anyone want to harm you?” He comes closer, walking up to him until they were toe-to-toe. Hesitantly, he reaches out and rests a hand on Riario’s forearm.

It is all he can do not to lean into the warmth of the other man.

“I was a very bad person. Once. A very long time ago.” Riario closes his eyes, whispering into the space between them. “I… I have hurt a lot of people for the sake of God and country. In the course of carrying out the will of God, I have been the cause of much pain and suffering, and there is not a single day that goes by that I do not think of it.” He feels his breath hitch when Leo takes his hand in his.

“Is that why they came for you?” He asks quietly.

Riario shrugs. “They came for me because I deserted the Church. Because I abandoned my family.” He shakes his head, clearing out the cobwebs of thought, the fevered half-dreams of a woman cradling her child, begging with her final breaths for the life of her baby. “I have to go.” He pulls away, leaving.

Leo stops him with a hand on his wrist. “One last question; why did you never tell me you spoke English so fluently?”

Ah. Riario supposes that he owes him some kind of explanation. Leo’s face is earnest, imploring. Swallowing down the nervous bubble of laughter, he leans over, whispering into Leo’s ear. “Perché volevo dirti che ti amo, ma senza che ti sentissi obbligato a dirmi lo stesso. Volevo dirti grazie.”

He brushes his lips against the shell of his ear, stealing another moment in the scent of paper and faint cologne, sighing softly as he draws away.

“Will I ever see you again?”

“Perhaps.” Riario answers, “Then again, you may never see me again in this lifetime.”

Riario does not look back.

 

* * *

 

**Two Years Later…**

He steals a flute of champagne, flitting himself from artwork to artwork, never staying at one for too long. At the fourth piece, he stops, blinking in surprise, before his lips curl into a smile.

“Do you like it?”

He tilts his head, considering. “It’s rather dark, don’t you think?”

“It is meant to be that way. I painted this man from memory.” The man next to him grinned, “Not an easy task, mind you. But I made it work.”

“You have a great talent.” He compliments, “ _Artista_.”

The man’s smile grew soft, hopeful. “You lied to me. You told me I would never see you again.”

“I made that comment in light of the events that had preceded it. I didn’t actually mean it, you know?” He pauses, setting down his champagne on a nearby table. Clearing his throat, he holds out his hand.

“Hello, are you the artist of this piece? My name is Girolamo, and I would like to buy it.”

To his credit, Leo only stutters for two seconds before taking his hand. “I’m Leonardo. I painted this, yes.” He ducks his head, licking his lips. “Perhaps I could interest you in an alternate form of payment?”

“Oh? And what might that be?”

Leo smiles, pulling him by their joined hands and crushing their lips together. He cards his fingers through Riario’s hair, finding purchase on the base of his neck. It isn’t the most graceful of kisses, nor is it particularly spectacular. There were no fireworks, and Riario is briefly aware of the hushing of sounds around them.

He breaks away then, though still keeping his hand pressed on the side of Leo’s head. Breathlessly, he chuckles, nuzzling against Leo’s nose. It might not have been the best kiss he has ever had, but it feels like a perfect ending to an old story and a wonderful beginning to a new adventure.

“I think we may have to discuss further payments somewhere else. Surely this painting is worth more than one kiss.”

Leo’s bright laughter rings clear as they stumble out of the gallery and into the streets, pressed close, delirious with champagne and joy.

Yes, a perfect ending indeed.

 

 

 

[end.]


	2. Chapter 2

“It’s them again.” Vanessa grins, slipping past him at the counter. Riario frowns, looking up from the order sheet he was mulling over.

The three men take their usual seats by the window; the youngest shoving his bag under the table, the tallest one talking animatedly with his hands, while the third smiles in his direction. Riario glares back, lips thinning in displeasure as he sets about preparing their order.

A plate of polenta cakes for the table, a glass of Rosso di Montalcino for Zo, a bottle of Moretti for Leo, and a cup of espresso for Nico. He loads them all onto a tray, casting a withering look in Vanessa’s direction which is less effective than he likes. The girl merely winks cheekily and unaffected, starting on a salad for Table 4.

Sometimes he wonders why he bothered hiring her in the first place.

Zo drains his glass in one breath, grinning up at him as he sighs. ‘Heathen.’ Riario thinks briefly in his direction, flourishing the wine bottle that Zo happily intercepts before it touches the table. Nico accepts his coffee with muted thanks, while Leo lets him set the plate of polenta down before he grabs his wrist, solemnly asking, “When will you drink with us?”

“When you choke and die you idiot.” Riario replies smoothly, twisting his wrist out of the other man’s grip. Nico begins to cough and sputter, face turning a brilliant shade of red as his blue eyes widen to stare incredulously at him. “Hopefully it will happen sooner, rather than later.”

Turning smartly, he retreats to the safety of the counter, ignoring the way his skin burns from where Leo’s hand had touched him

 

* * *

 

Girolamo Riario’s temper is well-known amongst the community, as is his dexterity with the blade. They had doubted him, doubted his ability to stand up for himself, but after the incident with some of the Pazzi boys causing havoc and him putting them in their place with a the aid of a cutting board and a book, doubt was the furthest thing from anyone’s mind.

No one is quite sure where he had come from, or who he was before he arrived in their little cluster of shops and cafes. The only thing that they knew was that Riario was not a man who lets down his guard for anyone other than the tailor’s daughter.

 

* * *

 

“Why are you so mean to me?”

Riario raises an eyebrow, coolly regarding Leo as he leans next to the counter, smiling teasingly. “I’ve seen you smile before and I know you are capable of it, so why won’t you smile at me? You smile at Nico, at the little children who come in, at their mothers… Why not me?” He queries softly, eyes half-lidded and lazy.

Riario rings up their total and takes the money from Leo. “I smile only when I need to.” He hands over the bill, their palms brushing briefly. “But I would smile for you if you would only ask.” He swallows nervously.

Leo tilts his head, considering. “Goodbye Leo.” Riario sighs, trying not to feel irrationally disappointed.

He watches them leave, knowing that he will see them in a day or two.

 

* * *

 

 _Il Celia_ opens on a rainy autumn day, and all Riario wants is her back. He had just come back from the cemetery, still drenched from the rain. _Il Celia_ was supposed to be a wedding gift and Riario feels crying even now.

 

* * *

 

All he knows about Zoroaster is that he is a musician of sorts. The man has asked him to stick up flyers for his gigs on the notice board often enough, and it does makes sense in a way. Riario also knows that Zo may or may not have a crush on the youngest member of their little trio. He hopes for his sake that he grows a pair and does something about it because it is equally (and rather painfully) obvious that Nico is a little more than head-over-heels for him as well.

Nico he knows a little more than Zo; born to a political family, he is the third son with no hope of inheriting the family seat, but from what Riario can see, it is more than fine with the blonde boy. He is quiet, shy at times, but Riario has been witness to his antics when he is drunk and it is simultaneously embarrassing to watch, but yet amusing at the same time. Very much like a train wreck that you cannot look away from. Nico is reading International Relations at the University, and Riario has never seen him with people in his age group.

He knows even less about Leo, and what he knows is little snatches of gossip and conversations amongst other patrons who know him and from Vanessa. Leo is the illegitimate son of Piero da Vinci, the Magistrate. Raised primarily in England, he came to Florence two years ago for reasons that no one quite knows. Leo integrates himself into the fabric of the community, and even though he speaks very little Italian, and understands even less, he is often the object of affections for many of the local girls (and more than a few of the starry-eyed boys). Leo works for Verrochio’s repair shop, doing jobs for a commission. It is a pity though, because from what Riario has heard, Leo is quite the inventor and painter.

What is quite obvious however, that his arrival had not been greeted with the happy open arms of his father. Riario thinks he is running from something. And he can understand that feeling.

 

* * *

 

Riario’s days pass like this; wake up before the sun, prepare a small breakfast in his little flat above the cafe, get dress, goes down to open the café, survive the day, close up, goes home and sleeps alone in his bed that was made for two.

 

* * *

 

The day Riario meets Lucrezia again is the day Leo brings her into the café. They both startle at the sight of the other, unsure how to react before Riario chances a glance at Leo who is taking a call outside.

Shaking his head almost imperceptibly, he waits until Lucrezia nods before breathing again.

He serves Leo his usual, taking down her order. She does not meet his eyes, and Riario does not force it. He scurries back to the kitchen, taking command of the stove from Vanessa and telling her to take over the service. Something in his voice must have shown how shaken he was that for once Vanessa does not make any witty quips, merely nodding and passing over the ladle. She pauses as she re-ties her apron, watching him with bright eyes. The remark about her strawberry-blonde hair not being tied up is on the tip of his tongue, but he finds that the words have left him when Vanessa reaches over and squeezes his arm as she turns to leave.

Riario finds that he cannot stop shivering.

Lucrezia comes alone the next day, her hair done up in a bun and dressed simply in a green dress. She waits outside the door, the streets devoid of people other than those beginning to set up their shops. Riario keeps his head down, unlocking the front door and ushering her in.

She waits until he has set a cup of coffee in front of her before she speaks. “Hello cousin.”

 

* * *

 

He has killed before and the warm weight of a gun or a knife is like an extension of his body. Blood and the taste of tears is his perfume, and he knows that those that die by his hands are nothing more than the enemies of God.

He has felt the life leave the bodies of the young and old, the potential and confirmed threats to the Church. He has watched as the lights go out behind their eyes, their confusion and fear. He offers prayers for every single one of them, and has done so since the first time he took up a sword and ran it through the resistance of a human body.

He is the Bishop of God, the Executioner and deliverer of Judgement to the wicked.

So why did the pleas of a dying mother stayed his hand?

 

* * *

 

The first time he meets Leo is that rainy autumn day as he sits at one of the tables, a picture of happier times in his hand. He can still smell the freshly dug grave and the flowers he left at her tombstone.

“We’re close.” He says, not looking up.

“It’s okay. I just need some place to wait out the rain.”

Riario grits his teeth, wanting to stand and shove the man right out into the street. Judging from the man’s accent he was a tourist then. Can’t he see that he wants to be alone?

He is about to tell the man to leave, that this was not a free shelter, when he looks up to see clever brown eyes looking straight into his. “I cannot offer you anything, sir.” He says haltingly in English. It has been far too long since he has used the language and he can only hope that the words he uses were the correct ones.

The man’s eyes widen, before they crinkle up as he smiled. “I don’t need anything, _signore_. Just needed a place to wait out the rain.”

Riario regards him carefully for a moment; feeling the rage and helpless frustration in his chest bleed out slowly. He looks back to the picture in his hand; he with his eyes closed, smiling as he presses a kiss to her cheek, the sun shining down on them like a blessing, her laughter that is fading fast from his memory…

She would have set a table out for him, chiding Riario for his rudeness. The telltale burn of tears behind his eyes persists even when he gets up to set out a chair for the man. He disappears into the kitchen, preparing a cup of caffe macchiato without asking the man, and coming out to set it on the table.

“Sit down.” Riario says, reverting into Italian, uncaring if the man cannot understand. “And please take off your coat. You are dripping all over my floor.”

The man blinks in surprise, before a grin slips into place and he takes off his coat, taking a seat. Riario grabs the damp thing, bringing it into the kitchen to hang next to his own coat by the stove. He takes the seat opposite the man and they both watch the rain in silence.

“My name is Leo.” He says when he leaves two hours later, smiling as he pays for the drink. Riario is about to protest, telling him that there is no need for that, when the man— _Leo_ places a hand over his. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Riario isn’t quite sure what he feels when the man shows up a few days later with his friends, and when they become regulars in his establishment.

 

* * *

 

Trouble comes a few weeks after Lucrezia’s visit.

He knew the Pazzi boys would not leave him be, and he was right. They and their thugs manage to inflict considerable damage to the place, and he thanks whoever is listening upstairs that Vanessa had gone home earlier for her date with Giuliano.

“What are you going to do now, tough guy?” They taunt, jeering as they push him to the ground.

Riario feels the red haze coming over him, feels the old monster that he keeps so very carefully sedated rearing its’ head, when the bell over the door tinkles and he hears the shout of angry voices, the sounds of fists on bodies.

He closes his eyes, fighting away the lust for blood. It has been a long time since he has felt this need to feel, this want…

“Are you alright?” Riario gasps, jerking away from the sudden touch. He sees Nico putting his hands up, edging away slowly as if being confronted by a dangerous animal. “Leo!” The boy shouts, and Riario detects the panic in his voice. “Leo, get in here!”

Riario hears a low growl and he turns his head around to find the source of the sound. “Riario? Riario, I need you to calm down. Riario, please…” Leo enters his line of sight, hands gripping his forearm. “We need to get you to a hospital, okay? You need to hold on…”

“No… No hospital. No. Hospital.” He grits out haltingly, suddenly desperate. “Please…”

Leo looks at him, conflicted, but he nods after a moment. “Leo! Are you mad?!” He thinks he hears Zo shouts from somewhere. “He needs medical attention!”

“He says no hospitals.” Leo says, eyes not leaving his, and Riario just feels like sagging onto him. “Riario, where do you live?”

“A-Above…”

Dimly, he is aware of Leo telling Zo and Nico to wait here for the police, and he slings an arm under his, wrapping it around him and guiding him up the steps to his flat. “Here.” Leo whispers, taking the keys away from his shaking hands and unlocking the door.

Leo sits him at his bed, moving around the flat under his instructions and gathering his first aid supplies. He feels the burn of antiseptic on his hairline, the sting when Leo tends to the cuts and bruises.

“Thank you.” He manages tiredly, unable to look at Leo. Riario feels drained, frayed at the edges of his sanity. “Can you call Vanessa?”

“Zo already did. She’s coming over later to clean-up.”

“I’m sorry…” He starts, then stopping, unsure how to continue.

Leo takes his hands between his palms. “Why did they come?”

“I humiliated them.” He breathes, closing his eyes. “They wanted to make an example of me.”

He feels a warm hand carding through his hair, and he can’t help but lean into the touch. “I’m checking you for any bumps. Wouldn’t want you to get a concussion, now would we?” Leo smiles, increasing the pressure of his fingers and Riario suddenly finds it hard to stifle the moan rising in his throat.

The heavy tug of sleep is hard to ignore, and Riario isn’t going to fight it. Leo lays him back down against the pillows, pulling the blankets over him. “Thank you.” He sighs as he feels Leo’s hand against the side of his head again.

 

* * *

 

Vanessa is there when he wakes, a fiery ball of vengeance as she heats up some soup for him.

“Are you alright?” She asks, carefully setting the bowl in front of him. Gently, she places the back of her hand on his forehead.

“How bad is it?”

Riario watches her face fall. “Bad. The police made some arrests and Giuliano’s brother is using this as an excuse to put the Pazzi’s out for good.”

He swallows, breathing deep. “And Leo?”

“He is coming by later.” Riario tries very hard to ignore the knowing smirk on her lips. “Knight in shining armour, huh?”

He shakes his head, trying valiantly to ignore the bubbling feel of happy giddiness. Riario stands, moving to the window. There, from behind the curtains, he sees the gawkers straining to look into the destruction of the café. Dimly, he is aware of the feeling of welling sadness in his chest, the loss.

“No he is not.” He says softly.

 

* * *

 

When the Vatican sends their best, they really do mean their best.

Riario has barely enough time to draw his own gun before they start shooting up the place.

He can hear Leo calling his name, Vanessa’s panicked screams, and he has to ignore them because he cannot afford to be distracted. The pain from the Pazzi’s attack ebbs away to the back of his mind and he pushes himself against the back of the upturned sofa.

“Get down!” He shouts, pushing Leo and Vanessa to the ground.

“Do you want to tell me _what the fuck_ is going on?!” Leo screeches, eyes wild with fear, hands going up to cover his head as a shower of plaster rains over their heads.

Riario calculates their chances, identifies their exits. “When I get up and start shooting, you grab Vanessa and get out through the bedroom window. Do you understand?” He checks his magazine, “Leonardo! Do you understand?!”

“Your English…” Leo breathes, brown eyes searching.

Huffing, Riario frowns incredulously at him. “You want to do this _now_?”

“On three.” Riario waits for the gunfire to cease, and the distinctive sounds of guns being reloaded.

He sees Vanessa paling, confused. She digs her hand into Leo’s sleeve. “THREE!”

 

* * *

 

Lucrezia is sitting in his darkened hotel room, calmly waiting until he takes the space on the chair next to her. “Why didn’t you fight back? That first time with the Pazzi.” She asks.

“Because if I did… If I did, they wouldn’t be alive. They would be dead and there would be more questions about me than I am comfortable with.” He clasps his hands in front of him, leaning back to watch the play of shadows on his ceiling. “I can’t risk it, Lucrezia. No one must know.” He whispers.

She does not say anything, and they sit in the silence. Then, she reaches into her purse, drawing out an unmarked envelope. “A new identity, a new start. Bank accounts in Zurich and London registered under your new alias with enough money to start over twice. There is a locker at the bus station. The key is in here. Take it.”

“Why are you doing this?” Riario asks, curiosity and intrigue colouring his words. He is too tired for anything else.

Lucrezia blinks once, the tips of her lips curling upwards. Riario is reminded of a time when they were children; in those rare moments that they were still innocent and Lucrezia was not haunted by the death and horrors of their lives ever since.

“Because you’re family Riario. As much as we have ignored that, you _are_ my family. And we keep each other safe.”

 

* * *

 

“Do you want to tell me why some Catholic priests with guns decided to shoot up your flat?”

Leonardo says from behind him. Sighing, Riario turns around.

He had only come back for the picture, the only thing he has left of hers. He looks around him, feeling a little forlorn about the loss of _Il_ _Celia_. He wonders if she would have been happy here.

“I kept myself out of trouble. I made myself invisible, hid away in here.” Riario lifts his hands, gesturing to the ruins of the café. The answer does not satisfy Leo. Burying his hands in the pockets of his coat, “I’m sorry I put you in harms way…”

“That’s not the point.” Leo interrupts.

“Then what is?” Riario replies, tilting his head. In the dead of the night, the yellow streetlamps outside cast an eerie sort of halo around Leo’s head.

Leo seems to grapple with his words—a first time for Riario. “Why did anyone try to harm you? Why would anyone want to harm you?” He comes closer, walking up to him until they were toe-to-toe. Hesitantly, he reaches out and rests a hand on Riario’s forearm.

It is all he can do not to lean into the warmth of the other man.

“I was a very bad person. Once. A very long time ago.” Riario closes his eyes, whispering into the space between them. “I… I have hurt a lot of people for the sake of God and country. In the course of carrying out the will of God, I have been the cause of much pain and suffering, and there is not a single day that goes by that I do not think of it.” He feels his breath hitch when Leo takes his hand in his.

“Is that why they came for you?” He asks quietly.

Riario shrugs. “They came for me because I deserted the Church. Because I abandoned my family.” He shakes his head, clearing out the cobwebs of thought, the fevered half-dreams of a woman cradling her child, begging with her final breaths for the life of her baby. “I have to go.” He pulls away, leaving.

Leo stops him with a hand on his wrist. “One last question; why did you never tell me you spoke English so fluently?”

Ah. Riario supposes that he owes him some kind of explanation. Leo’s face is earnest, imploring. Swallowing down the nervous bubble of laughter, he leans over, whispering into Leo’s ear. “Because I wanted to tell you I love you without you feeling obligated to say it back to me. I wanted to say thank you.”

He brushes his lips against the shell of his ear, stealing another moment in the scent of paper and faint cologne, sighing softly as he draws away.

“Will I ever see you again?”

“Perhaps.” Riario answers, “Then again, you may never see me again in this lifetime.”

Riario does not look back.

 

* * *

 

**Two Years Later…**

He steals a flute of champagne, flitting himself from artwork to artwork, never staying at one for too long. At the fourth piece, he stops, blinking in surprise, before his lips curl into a smile.

“Do you like it?”

He tilts his head, considering. “It’s rather dark, don’t you think?”

“It is meant to be that way. I painted this man from memory.” The man next to him grinned, “Not an easy task, mind you. But I made it work.”

“You have a great talent.” He compliments, “ _Artista_.”

The man’s smile grew soft, hopeful. “You lied to me. You told me I would never see you again.”

“I made that comment in light of the events that had preceded it. I didn’t actually mean it, you know?” He pauses, setting down his champagne on a nearby table. Clearing his throat, he holds out his hand.

“Hello, are you the artist of this piece? My name is Girolamo, and I would like to buy it.”

To his credit, Leo only stutters for two seconds before taking his hand. “I’m Leonardo. I painted this, yes.” He ducks his head, licking his lips. “Perhaps I could interest you in an alternate form of payment?”

“Oh? And what might that be?”

Leo smiles, pulling him by their joined hands and crushing their lips together. He cards his fingers through Riario’s hair, finding purchase on the base of his neck. It isn’t the most graceful of kisses, nor is it particularly spectacular. There were no fireworks, and Riario is briefly aware of the hushing of sounds around them.

He breaks away then, though still keeping his hand pressed on the side of Leo’s head. Breathlessly, he chuckles, nuzzling against Leo’s nose. It might not have been the best kiss he has ever had, but it feels like a perfect ending to an old story and a wonderful beginning to a new adventure.

“I think we may have to discuss further payments somewhere else. Surely this painting is worth more than one kiss.”

Leo’s bright laughter rings clear as they stumble out of the gallery and into the streets, pressed close, delirious with champagne and joy.

Yes, a perfect ending indeed.

 

 

 

[end.]

**Author's Note:**

> [Got A Prompt?](http://randomingoftherandomness.tumblr.com/ask)


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